His prayer
by FugitiveJuliana
Summary: This is a short introspective piece about Bosco.


Title: His prayer  
Author: Juliana  
Rating: PG 13  
Summary: His prayer

  
_Padre nostro che sei nei cieli, _  
_Sia santificato il tuo nome …_

He drops to his knees in the dimly lit chapel. The thud of his jeans clad knees hitting the wooden floor mirrors the pain he feels on his kneecaps. Anything. Anything is better than the pain in his heart. Any soreness and hurt his body suffers helps him distance slightly from the devastation he caused that day with his actions. Nothing can erase it or make it better, but any distraction that allows him to forget it for only a split second, keeps him from drowning.

He joins his hands in prayer. What a blast He must be having watching him bowing his head humbly, begging for her survival and for forgiveness. Her forgiveness not His. He has tried to spite them all, to show them he was better than they thought, deserving, smart even. But he is nothing. He is dirt. He is selfish and ambitious, bringing only hurt to the people he loves, causing them to suffer because of his stupidity. Now He has brought him to his knees to face his shame, guilt, remorse.

He wrings his hands not able to join coherent thoughts into a prayer that could prevail the sense of fear and terror in his thoughts and heart. There are still stains of blood under his nails. He has rubbed his hands till his own blood started to replace hers but he still feels as if they are dirty, sticky, bloody. Blood was seeping in between his helpless fingers, bubbles of air tickling his palms when they burst, when he tried to stop her bleeding. To stop what he had started when he gave in to Cruz.

He lights a candle. He doesn't know whether he does it for her aching body or his drowning soul.

_Venga il tu regno, _  
_Sia fatta la tua volonta,_  
_Come in cielo cosi in terra._

He was watching her olive skin, her slender limbs emphasized by her tightly-fitting clothes. Her dark eyes unforgiving, unrelenting. The mounds of her breasts were a bright day compared to the night of her heart within. He knew her but he couldn't admit it. So he gave in.

He caressed her skin to forget another. He kissed her lips to avenge himself on Faith for things she had never done, things she had never thought of doing; his twisted mind imagined them and resented them nonetheless. He believed he could fool himself, he believed fake emotions and carnal desires could erase his unrequited love and hurt. What a fool.

He thought she was strong and she could fight the world alone and he wanted to be like her. He never again wanted to feel hurt, loneliness, betrayal, helplessness, deception. He believed she could teach him that but she couldn't. He saw promises where there weren't any, he saw love and understanding where there was ruthless ambition and fake strength.

He wanted to diminish his guilt and blame her. But in essence he was like her. He was weak, scared, angry and empty. He was the only one to blame.

_Dacci oggi il nostro pane quotidiano,_  
_Rimetti a noi i nostri debiti ..._

He drops to his knees onto the soft, humid soil. The grass is crushed from the frequent steps that lead to the small spot. He feels cold seeping through his clothes, drizzle moistening his hair. He came to beg his little brother for forgiveness for never getting them onto the ship that would take them to a better life. For being too weak to overcome his own fear and help allay his brother's. For not trying hard enough.

He doesn't bring flowers or candles. His ma does that. He comes to make a belated admission of love and devotion. He comes to ease his burden, to get a respite from his guilt. He comes too late.

_Come noi li rimettiamo ai nostri debitori._

He could never forgive nor forget the thumps of his father's blows forever etched into his memory. Ma's tears and brother's scared sobs and his own helpless anger. His childhood. The period of his life that haunted him on his every step into adulthood. The period that was supposed to be carefree and happy but was full of terror and frustration.

Forgive and forget. He wasn't great nor good enough to do either. His nightmares made him remember, his hatred forbade him to forgive. He could only let others to do the forgiving; himself remaining alone with his dark seething anger.

_E non ci indurre in tentazione..._

The rock he sits on seems harder then usually. And it seems like cold is enveloping him all around. The ground beneath him, the still cold spring air, the river only a foot away, the gun in his hands, all cold. But for his warm tears, sliding down his cheeks under the band-aid like they are trying to wash away the ugly scar. Like that could be possible. Nothing could erase the scars he wears inside. Nothing but a smile from her.

Instead of a redemptive smile he gained another scar, not from a gun but a knife stabbed into his back. A scar that hurts the most. A scar that goes beyond his flesh, that broke his heart. That scar proves that they both lost Faith.

And the warm tears cool down before they reach his heart, trapping it in an almost unbreakable cover of ice.

_Ma liberaci dal male._

What he really means when he asks 'When did you stop believing in me?' is, 'Had you loved me as much as I love you, you wouldn't have lost your trust in me.' He had given it all, more than he had; he had tried his best, surpassing his limits. For Faith. For Love.

But now He was punishing him because he did something good but out of the wrong reasons. He did it out of selfishness. He'd rather die than lose her because the only death he feared was the death of her who was his life.

He doesn't know whether his steps away from her are leading him away from pain or towards it. He wishes more than anything for her to stop him. He wishes it so badly that he doesn't know whether he only imagined or actually heard 'I believe in you' coming from behind his back.

_Amen._


End file.
